


And water'd Heaven with their tears

by Nobodystormcrow



Series: Tyger, Tyger [2]
Category: Before Crisis: Final Fantasy VII, Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII, Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe—Canon Divergence, Chadley's is an AI assistant, Chinese Mythology & Folklore, Complicated Platonic Relationships, Deepground, Double SI, Felicia and Elfé are different people, Fuhito is a creep, Ganjiang and Moye, Gen, Genjutsu, Hojo is His Own Warning, Hojo’s first name is Professor, Identifying with Sauron isn’t a good thing, I’m talking about Argento, Kaguya and Jenova are the same species, Kanshou and Bakuya, Loveless sounds like pro-Kaguya propaganda, Materia are Fūinjutsu Matrices, Orochimaru set high standards for Mad Science, Proper Scientists take specimens down themselves, References to Norse Religion & Lore, SI/OC, Silmarillion quoting for some reason, Wutai worldbuilding, academic integrity, and mundane mental fuckery, because I creatively misinterpreted cyborg, compassion as strength, moral backbone among intellectuals, needlework as a metaphor, nuclear fusion reactors, quiet resistance, reconnecting with your birth culture, subtle and unconventional methods of revenge
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:28:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27353491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nobodystormcrow/pseuds/Nobodystormcrow
Summary: "General Sephiroth! I’m canceling your mission to Nibelheim!""By what authority?"“My own as the Acting Director of the Department of Scientific Research.""Explain.”"Director Hojo is dead, General Sephiroth, therefore, as his assistant, I’ve assumed temporary control."Please stop asking, I mentally begged."And why is Hojo dead?" He asked me, feline eyes narrowed in suspicion.I slumped. Damn it. "I killed him."In which for all that Hojo decried emotions, empathy, and general humanity, perhaps possessing even the slightest bit of them would have told him that maybe, just maybe, the ever-capable sister of one of his less-interesting experiments wasn’t actually his loyal second. Unfortunately, for all his vaunted intelligence, that notion escaped him, and now Shinra has been thrown into disarray at the beheading of the Science Department, while down below in the bowels of the Tower, guided by a teenager who remembers when this was all a game, revolution brews in Deepground.
Relationships: Elfé & Veld (Compilation of FFVII)
Series: Tyger, Tyger [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1997683
Comments: 11
Kudos: 73





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It all began with a race of space-farers who roamed the stars, seeking planets to consume their energy. One found an old planet, wise and canny, and it surrendered the battle, but planted the seed of love in her heart, through which it won the war, taking the Rabbit Goddess’s children for its own; one found a young planet, brave and brash, and it poured forth its power to win its battle, yet though the Calamity was sealed, the war was not won, for the world-eater lay dormant and in wait while outside its icy prison, its enemies dwindled, and memory of Her faded as a new people arose—  
> But should one of the Rabbit Goddess's brood come to this young world, would the Calamity gain a friend or a foe?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hojo dies. That's the easy part.

“Your hair is up today.” Argento noted, casting a cursory glance over my bun, “The comb is new.”

“It was my Fa-dad’s birthday gift to me.” I pulled the carved antler out and pressed it into the blacksmith’s hands, “I would entrust it to you for safekeeping.”

She shot me a glance, “It is now?”

“Yes.” I pressed my lips together tightly, “I can wait no longer.”

My last memento of my parents disappeared into her sleeve, carrying so much that could not be spoken of between us. I had delayed too long, been too cautious, but I had to cut the weave of fate now, or else all would be in vain. But for all that I had a duty to the world, had to act in my brother’s stead, another could bear that weight, while it was the task of breaking hell open that would have to be done at my hand.

Verde would not forgive me, if I failed in the former. I could not forgive myself, have face to meet my parents, should I founder at the latter.

I had given the older woman a promise to return after the deed was done no matter how treacherous the path in the form of collateral, an oath that I would not forsake my obligations as a daughter, a sister, and a friend.

She took it with deliberate solemnity, full aware of the weight of the act, “车师西门伫献捷, I await by the west gate of Cheshi for swift report. Go now, and Godspeed.”

I savored the warmth of our hands for a heartbeat longer, then went.

* * *

The Professor was in the throes of mania once more, working without pause for such mundane things as rest or sustenance, struck by the inspiration of genius. As his…disciple would not be a false word, given my self-imposed responsibilities in and out of the labs, I could not be less zealous and driven than he, and so I steeped tea and unwrapped energy bars for us both to eat as we worked through the night and into morning, comfortable in our synergy.

“Professor.” I greeted politely, handing him a tablet with the results of the comparative testing, the font a size larger to be legible in the dim, after-hours light, “The new design induced a twelve percent increase in the efficacy of Monodrive cell gaseous Mako conversion, and shows the potential to improve Reactor sustainability—of course,” I smiled, “The high ambient Mako levels in the Reactors do discourage interlopers and induce interesting mutations.”

“Interesting enough.” Professor Hojo scanned the clipboard, “Hand it down to Harker tomorrow. What else?”

“Yes, professor.” I pushed my glasses up, “I have established the potential of cross-species J-Cell resonance using monsters and mundane animals, and repurposed specimen #1304 to test the tertiary compulsion aspect of Reunion Theory.”

“It’s degrading.” He cut me off, “Why are you wasting your time on it when it’s to be disposed of tomorrow?”

I opened the relevant file, waited four seconds for him to scan through as was his preference, then gave my explanation, “It has an ideally compromised immune system for high sensitivity to the modified J-Cells and sufficiently developed reception organs—I confess to impatience, Professor.”

“And nothing else?” He raised an eyebrow, “Not even an attack of your intermittent soft-heartedness?”

I smiled, “Of course not, professor—I have never possessed anything of the sort—only fondness for efficiency.”

“Sufficiently enlightened self-interest?” He asked acridly, as he did all such “pithy aphorisms”.

“It is of a similar ilk.” I agreed lightly, “Although I did take its impending death into consideration.”

“Oh?”

“I would rather not risk a dangerous specimen becoming unmanageable, or worse, falling under another’s control." I indicated the schedule tab, "The general will be coming by in the near future, and there is a non-zero chance of triggering Reunion.”

“You are over-scrupulous, girl.” My mentor disparaged, retreading our old argument, “A good habit under the academic budget, but utterly unnecessary with Shinra’s safety net. That you do not make full use of it is an absolute disappointment.”

I bowed shallowly, a gesture taken up once more both in consideration to the Professor’s Wutai sensibilities and due to the ingrained usance of a prior life, “I beg but this one indulgence, professor.”

“Humph. Show me #1304.”

The former SOLDIER had been mutated beyond recognition even before one factored in the grafted-on limbs and bulging hernias. However, despite the monstrousness of the chimaera’s appearance, with its gaping maw and hand-long claws, one could not muster up anything other than pity for the poor creature collapsed and whimpering on the floor of its containment unit.

I gave it a disdainful look, “Apologies, Professor, the subject has not absorbed the Hypers necessary to motivate it yet, and so remains rather unimpressive.”

“It’s expected.” The professor waved away my apologies, “Begin.”

“Chadley, if you will.” I said.

“Yes, Doctor.” Came the answer from the speakers overhead.

I spied a twitch from the corner of my eye.

“This is a semi-complex command.” I explained, while Chadley conducted the necessary biomechanical manipulations within the testing system, “I drew upon animal behavioral assessments to define the levels of tested ability, and the aforementioned command contains multiple simultaneous and sequential components.”

“Good. What is the command?”

I struck the juncture of his skull and spine (cervical curve) with a scalpel as the reinforced glass rose, then stepped calmly aside as the beast who had once been a man rushed out.

 _Kill and feed_.

The man was dead already, face frozen in its normal sour expression, but I could not help but feel a sense of satisfaction in the carnage. His face was bitten off, his diseased brains lapped up, then his chest ripped open for access to his twisted heart.

I leaned out of the way of a particularly large splatter of blood, then strode over the growing puddle under the cadaver.

“Now,” I pulled out an emergency tranquilizer gun, then switched the cartridge for the lethal one in my pocket, “For your death, Mister Matthews.”

He stood from his crouch over Professor Hojo’s body as I approached, growling and baring his teeth. I saluted the half-dead Genesis clone with a nod of the head and a quote, sadly not _Loveless,_ “ _Cattle die, | and kinsmen die, And so one dies one's self; One thing now | that never dies, The fame of a dead man's deeds._ ”

It was an honorable end I owed him, and so I waited until he leapt at me to shoot, and once he toppled, closed his eyes and clasped his paws over the weapon I had lain on his breast, kneeling there a moment in prayer. _Hrist and Mist, Skeggjold and Skogul; Hild and Thruth, Hlok and Herfjotur; Gol and Geironul, Randgrith and Rathgrith and Reginleif: bring ye this warrior swiftly to the halls of the slain, and Valfather take Thou him._

I could offer no more than a good death in battle destroying a hated foe and a belly satisfied by vengeance fulfilled as apology for the torture I had allowed, took part in, and designed; I could only give swift death in repayment of Professor Hojo’s six years’ worth of guidance and support, to honor the bond between student and teacher; I could but take his life by my own hand to take redress as demanded by my obligations as daughter and sister.

It was done, but this death was just the beginning. The arduous part lay ahead.

“Thank you, Chadley.” I said.

“It was no problem, Reyne!” He answered cheerfully, “The current time is 6:42 AM, today’s weather is sunny with a 60% chance of rain in the afternoon, the surveillance has been left alone as you instructed, and General Sephiroth will be heading down to receive his orders in eighteen minutes! Based on previous observed information, you will require approximately five minutes and twenty seconds to clean up, five more minutes to file the forms to officially assume temporary command of the Science Department if I do not do it for you, and three minutes to get to General Sephiroth if you take the stairs, and four if you want to wait for the elevator. Here’s a reminder to leave your lab coat inside the labs, and not wear it outside!”

“I shall take the stairs then.” I decided.

“A question, Reyne.”

“Please, ask away.”

“Why is it allowed for you to kill your boss and then take control of the Department? It seems like it would encourage people to murder their superiors.”

“Well.” I hummed, washing my hands, “I suppose it may have something to do with the fact that Professor Hojo shot Director Gast to death, setting an awkward precedent.”

“Oh. I didn’t know that!”

“Well, that reminds me, please suppress all mentions of Aerith, Ancients, Cetra and the like and ensure that the Department will not be reminded of them while I cannot do damage control.”

“Of course! But…Rain?” If he was here in a human form, he would be biting his lip and furrowing his brow.

“Yes, Chadley?”

“Are you sure you’re going to be alright? Empirical evidence suggests that you have an eighty percent likelihood of being executed…and…”

“I have no other choice, do I?” I asked, then laughed wryly. “I promise, Chadley, I will emerge victorious. And if you still have your doubts…well, I suppose that you can keep an eye on me, and rescue me, should the situation warrant it.”

“No codeword?”

“I trust your judgement.”

“Okay.” I was at the door, “Leave your coat inside, Rain.”

“I always forget.” I grumbled.

“That’s why I’m here!” He said with forced cheer, “And Rain…?”

“Yes, Chadley?”

“Good luck.”

“Thank you. S—” Chadley could always see me through the surveillance systems, “Talk to you soon.”

* * *

Ah, I suppose I should introduce myself. My name is Yakushi Reyne, formerly Rain Storm. My little brother Verde is either a reincarnate or a time-traveler, and gifted with certain abilities beyond the norm, and due to... let's say insufficient information security, they were discovered and he was kidnapped by the ROOT-equivalent of Shinra Electric Power Company. I have spent more than half a decade under the tutelage of the aforementioned company's science director Professor Hojo, acting as a combination of research partner, personal assistant, and occasional bodyguard when containment breaches happen and the professor doesn't want to get clear, in order to rescue my little brother and also to prevent JENOVA from causing the end of the world.

The former is by far the more difficult, as far as I'm concerned.

Why?

As you may have surmised from my lack of surprise at Verde's circumstances, the extraordinarily expansive skillset, or perhaps my blasé reaction to murder, I have killed a goddess before. This one is Karatachi Ginkanmuri called Kirihara, and though this one has but the experience of a lifetime as a shinobi and none of the power, this one is still a jounin of Kirigakure.

I would say that it is a pleasure to meet you, but I find the current circumstances rather suboptimal, and so, unfortunately, must refrain.

…upon further reflection, one supposes that most of you found the alias the most telling, did you not? But when one is the polite, bespectacled, two-faced prodigy of a right hand to an amoral scientist with long black hair, what other surname could one choose?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm assuming that Nibelheim has Nordic/Germanic culture with corresponding myths and beliefs. Quotes from poetic edda, mostly, with minor alterations as necessary.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At least no one has had to meet with HR yet...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> check out chp 1 again, there have been some edits.

"General Sephiroth!" I gasped out, cursing the improbable number of stairs that I had been forced to run, "I'm countermanding your orders!"

The powder keg just waiting to blow raised one silver brow, utterly ungrateful for my desperate exertion to reach him before he was deployed, and the breaking of my six-year-deep cover, "By what authority?"

I steeled myself, then answered, “My own as the Acting Director of the Department of Scientific Research."

"Explain." He looked distinctly unimpressed, despite my efforts to appear as different from my colleagues as possible. Smart man.

My face was appropriately pale, so I adjusted my tone to match, "Director Hojo is dead, General Sephiroth, therefore, as his assistant—the only one left who knows what's going on—I’ve assumed temporary control."

 _Please stop asking_ , I mentally begged.

"And why is Hojo dead?" He asked me, feline eyes narrowed in suspicion.

I slumped. _Damn it_. "I killed him."

I saw the suit's reflection before I heard his voice. "The President is quite curious about that. Please come with us, Doctor—"

"—Acting Director." I corrected distantly, "I checked the regulations, there's no exception in protocol for having killed the director."

The Turk should be able to note the tremors of panic in my hands, the too-fast breathing, the bloodless pallor; that I was clenching my hands hard enough to bleed. By all indications, I was going into shock, as to be expected, when, by all indications, I was a markedly competent civilian intellectual who had murdered her superior due to a set of ironclad principles that somehow went unnoticed, now clinging to the familiarity of rules after doing the unthinkable. _At least one died a good death, s_ _uffering ended, vengeance fulfilled._

* * *

Oh. I was sitting in front of the President. I was a mess, sweaty and bloodstained, what a disgrace. The Professor would be embarrassed. However, it was only Rupert Shinra, without the board, which meant that this was being kept on the down low, and he had not yet decided that I would be made an example of. Good. I also noted that I was close enough to eliminate him before Tseng could kill me. Alas, I was not so desperate as to follow in the footsteps of assassins and emissaries, who spilt five feet of blood and cast down two corpses to send all under heaven into mourning. Wutai would certainly celebrate instead, for one.

Still too detached, I did my best to explain myself, as ordered, "Professor Hojo's actions were to the detriment of the wellbeing of the company, the department, and myself."

"A severe accusation." Said President Shinra.

I waited. Stared. Realized that it was my turn to talk. "His continued experimentation on the General risked damage to company assets, and the psychological repercussions, combined with the professor’s designs for the general’s next mission, were intended to cause the general a psychotic break. I couldn’t stop him. I could only kill him. Odin. I killed him. He’s _dead._ Dead."

Fingers snapped in front of my face. "Because you believed that, should Director Hojo have continued, we would have lost General Sephiroth?"

"Yes, sir. I will submit my report for review if you wish it."

"I have no doubt that you will argue your point eloquently." President Shinra steepled his fingers and looked at me as one would a pest, "However, I somehow doubt that the late professor would attempt to destroy his life’s work, let alone that murder was the correct solution. We have channels for lodging such complaints, Doctor Yakushi."

I continued to stare fixedly at the tabletop, "Director Hojo was useful, sir. You knew him. You would not believe my word over his. I do not believe that more reserved measures would leave him neutralized, not when his continued contributions would have bought him his freedom and endangered the company. In light of circumstances, I thought it better…to beg forgiveness than ask permission…" I trailed off into a mumble, the excuse sounding flimsy even to my ears.

As it should.

The President sighed, "I hoped that we could have settled this misunderstanding cleanly. However, I'm afraid that I do not have the time to waste on your attempts at justifying yourself with pithy aphorisms, and even less on listening to your accusations against me. We may talk again, if you prove more tractable. Until then, I consign you to the custody of the Department of Administrative Research."

The words snapped me out of my shock. My head whipped up to stare at the president. "No—!" The Turk took me away under the contemptuously amused gaze of President Shinra, his lip curling at my terror.

On the other hand, the fact that he had entertained the possibility of "settling this cleanly" probably told you all you need to know about Shinra. The image of my late mentor having gone through something similar stirred up a bit of amusement that I quickly suppressed in favor of shocked numbness.

Showtime.

* * *

First impression: Shinra's shadow hand was competent. I was not thrown into a dingy cell with bloodstains and rusted manacles, nor onto a cold, white-tiled floor. Instead, I was kept off guard by soothing voices, a comfortable chair, and a friendly young woman who was about my age.

“Why did you kill professor Hojo?” Cissnei asked, companionable and kind.

I shuddered.

“I killed the professor because he was going to expose the general to JENOVA.” I grimaced, “The consequences…would not have been pretty. The President was correct to say that Professor Hojo would not damage his greatest creation. However, what he considers improvement is never considerate of the wellbeing of others. Had the general been sent to Nibelheim, there would have been high odds of him falling under the JENOVA specimen’s influence and going rogue, which, given the observations of prior incidences, would have been severely undesirable.”

A quirk I trained into myself: Nervousness lengthened my sentences and encouraged understatement, but at least I hadn't progressed to incomprehensible metaphors yet.

“Uh huh. Fair enough, I wouldn’t want another crazy First on our hands, especially not _Sephiroth_.” Cissnei nodded along in agreement, creating a rapport, “But you know, most people don’t panic enough to kill their superior. Plus, you could have just told someone.”

“Who would listen to me?” I winced, “And the professor would do worse than kill me if I messed with his plans. At least this means I’m not being used as a test subject.”

“Somehow, I think HR would have objected.” Cissnei pointed out drily.

I laughed, “And go against _Professor Hojo_? For someone else, perhaps. Not me, as you should know.”

“Really?” She asked. It was mildly leading.

“I know too much.” I acknowledged serenely, “And for all my competence, I don’t have much to bargain with—I had mostly relied on the Professor’s protection.”

He had deliberately kept me dependent, given my complex circumstances, and we had both known that the moment I showed distress at that, our relationship would change, and not for the better. But I had never displayed anything but perfect contentment at my situation, and so he had allowed himself to assume that there was nothing else to it. (Imbecile. Such miracles were not for him.)

Cissnei _looked_ at me, “You’re surprisingly calm about that.”

I tilted my head, “How can I not be, when I have been living with the threat of finding myself on the wrong end of a scalpel for more than half a decade?”

“But you killed Hojo because he was threatening your life?” I got a skeptical eyebrow raised at me.

“The immediacy of the threat made a difference.” I allowed, then snorted, “Besides, just because I don’t panic in face of danger doesn’t mean I’m not motivated to avoid it.”

“You admit that you didn’t panic and kill Hojo?” Cissnei prodded, softening threatening words with a tease in her tone.

Good, she caught that. “I reacted rashly to his actions, but no, I didn’t act in a moment of passion.”

She was genuinely surprised at this bit of forthrightness. “You just confessed to premeditated murder to a Turk, you know.”

“Grounds for execution.” I inclined my head, “I’m aware. However, I don’t think I’m going to be killed.”

“I hope not.” Cissnei frowned, “But why? Normally people’d be terrified and blubbering and trying to avoid punishment by now, not being so cooperative.”

I relaxed into my seat. “I may have a rather odd perception of the Turks, to be honest—I could never quite shake my first impression, even if you are quite intimidating.”

“Ooh? Do tell.”

“When I was a child, I got lost in the market square.” I made an aborted motion to draw a knee up to my chest, “There were footsteps chasing me, and I was scared, and ran into an alley; the footsteps belonged to a pretty man, who was tired but kind, and he brought me back to my parents. He told me that he was Vincent Valentine of the Turks. It stayed with me, the association of the Turks with salvation.” I laughed in self-deprecation, “Quite silly, but somehow, it has remained even through my years in the company.”

Then I sat up, and met her eyes calmly, “It has led me here. My killing of the professor can be treated as premeditated murder, conducted with no accomplices to be traded in for leniency, however, I have two names and a sentence.”

“Tell me.”

“Vincent Valentine. Felicia Faraman. They yet live, victims of the professor’s creativity.”

“Explain.” A single word, forced between clenched teeth, as the tension in the room increased in an eyeblink until it was nearly tangible.

What I had become, what I had to become, what I had to be, did not have the luxury of fear. I stared the Turk down with all the terrible pride that kept my chin up when I said _I am_ , and stated, calm and cold and unflinching, “In all the atrocities of Hojo under the banner of Shinra, in his vast works and in the cruelties of his genius, I had a part. The sealing of Valentine was before my time, perhaps carried out while I as a little girl played and anticipated my brother’s birth little distance away from the Nibelheim Labs that spelled his doom, but it was _I_ who sent Felicia Faraman into the hell I became a devil to rescue my brother from, in the belief that the meagre, tremulous hope of rescue from Deepground was a better choice than the mercy of death. Thus, through complicity, I know the sins of Shinra, even those which have escaped your watchful eyes, and for the sakes of all those doomed to the dark depths of Reactor Zero beneath our feet, _you will listen to me_.”

Rage sparked by surprise, but not hate. She was skilled enough to pick out the bits and pieces of information I had given her, dusted lightly in symbolism and metaphor. And so, she clenched her teeth, turned on her heel, and left.

I didn’t slump, too aware that I could still be watched, but mentally, I allowed myself a moment to gather myself as my plan begun.

The professor’s blood had been washed away from my skin with practiced ease, swirling down the drain like that of so many more innocent souls. I had killed him, and my distress had not been wholly feigned. He was my unknowing opponent, my foe, the root of so much of my family’s grief, but he had been the most constant presence in my life for six years. I had devoted myself to pleasing him, remade myself according to his preferences, and in that process, sheltered under his wing and learned at his knee.

He like a—familiarity had bred affection, affection that went both ways. I was a method actor, and—I killed him—and yet—he was as a— _why was this ever my doom_? Masters and disciples, with the former being written with the characters for “teacher” and “father” in Kiri’s old tongue, that of Wutai's western peoples, for there was little difference between one and the other as times went on. I had been taught by the enemy, used my heart as a weapon, knowingly, ruthlessly offering all that I was. Ruthlessness. Would that I _was_ heartless, this was far worse—to act _despite_ the thorny tangle of attachments, even as one’s heart bled from being torn to pieces.

I wept, in the end, as I had known I would when I embarked on this course. Professor Hojo was dead, the deed was done, and so I could allow myself to feel freely what would have stayed my hand. Memories I had accepted now stirred, and after that wave of emotion crashed, I scrubbed a clean coat corner over my face, then began the meditation that sifted brutal grief into cool sorrow. I could not break yet. I would not break.

How comical, that I mourned my adversary when I had yet to burn incense at my parents’ graves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _assassins and emissaries_ : see _唐雎不辱使命，Tangju does not dishonor the calling of the emissary_ (English translation mine), gist of it is that assassins of antiquity usually approached their noble targets not under the cover of darkness, but in the open, striking once and then no matter whether they succeeded or failed, dying to the swords of the guardsmen.  
>  _five feet of blood [...] mouring_ : see above, from the same text. The king pointed out that he could have armies kill millions to the emissary Tangju, but Tangju pointed out that he's close enough to achieve of mutual kill, so will we please all play nice and agree not to conquer Tanju's country?  
>  _In all the atrocities [...] had a part._ Paraphrased from Tolkien's _Silmarillion_ , "In all the deeds of Melkor the Morgoth upon Arda, in his vast works and in the deceits of his cunning, Sauron had a part." Yes, Reyne is calling Hojo Morgoth, and naming herself Sauron. She even has werewolves! (Fine, Guard Hounds, and they're not hers.)


	3. Chapter 3

“You claim that Vincent Valentine and Felicia Faraman are not dead.” Veld Verdot said, as he sat across me in a featureless interrogation room.

I took off my glasses. I wasn’t going to hide behind them for this conversation. Spine straight, shoulders back, tone pleasantly even, “I do not _claim_. Vincent Valentine’s voluntary seclusion in the Nibelheim Manor’s basement can be found in the professor’s records, while I was the scientist who, under the professor’s supervision, conducted the Shardstrength experimental procedures on your daughter there.”

“Given that you were sixteen at the time of the Kalm bombings, I doubt that you were in any position of authority, let alone that you had the clearance to take part in something as classified.” The Director of the Turks did not show any reaction to my mention of his daughter, as expected of a professional. That was a good sign.

I inclined my head in acknowledgement, “I should not have been, without a doubt, however, desperation and determination drive us to greater heights than we can imagine. My birth name’s Rain, not Reyne; surname Storm, not Yakushi, but I presume you are already aware of it, along with the fact that my brother was Verde Storm, who was invited to a non-existent Shinra Educational Uplift Program and never arrived, with my parents being told that he had perished in a terrorist attack, a line which they simply doubted, and so were fire-farewelled. My brother was…gifted, Director Verdot, and we both know what attention gifts like his attract. That my parents died days after my graduation only confirmed my suspicion that outside forces were involved—forces that, without a doubt, were affiliated with Shinra.”

He made a note there, but did not follow up on how I had arrived at my conclusion, instead asking, “And how did this lead to your participation in a classified project at sixteen?”

“The Science Department was, to me, the optimal avenue for accessing information about my brother. The professors Hojo and Hollander would each come around to the university for a series of guest lectures every year, and between them, not only did Professor Hojo seemed less likely to have me sleep with him, he also held a position of higher authority, so I focused on impressing him.”

I drew my hand through my hair, the silvery grey of Yakushi Kabuto. I had begged the aid of powers only once in this life, on that day when I had received the letter informing me of my brother’s demise. I had sat myself before a mirror and sent a silent apology to my parents, _I must repudiate you to do my duty to you, and though the choice and fault is mine, I beseech you for understanding_ ; then taken a blade to the body which they had bequeathed onto me, praying to Yakushi Nonō who had retaught me compassion and her son who I had called apprentice-brother, begging her forgiveness for discarding her kindness for ruthlessness and seeking his blessing as I walked his path. I had snipped my bangs too short to tie back, letting them fall forward so as to, along with the large round glasses of the Yakushis, obscure my face, then gathered the rest of my hair into a low ponytail to complete my evocation of the spy and scientist who I had had to become. After that, I had worn that persona until today.

“I changed my appearance and my name to avoid him recognizing me immediately as the sister of Verde Storm.”

“You did realize that there would be records of your transition to your current name, and that it would turn up in standard background checks?” Veld asked the question without any condescension.

“Yes.” I nodded in agreement, “However, Professor Hojo is—was—fundamentally lacking in empathy, a condition only exacerbated by the universal tendency to only see what one wishes to see. I theorized that he would not care about my relation to my brother, once I’d established myself as a desirable student, and was proven correct when the background check came up only for him to question me briefly about my memories of Verde—it was easy to display nothing other than scientific curiosity and a vague sense of fraternal obligation, with a touch of indecision driving me to look to him for guidance. The professor then informed me that he considered me a true scientist, dedicated to my work, and that was that—I kept my new look and name both to avoid the suspicions of wiser parties and inquiries from customers of my embroidery business, and because for all that the Professor believed—or at least professed to believe—my indifference, I’d rather not remind him of my relationship with Verde. News of my parents’ deaths reached me a few days after—a handful of months before my sixteenth birthday, so I requested the professor to temporarily act as my legal guardian, creating the opportunity to become closer to the professor, which I took, and in the mean time, I acquitted myself well in the labs, as my youth helped me avoid attracting undue enmity. I soon became his favorite assistant.”

I had slotted neatly into the space Sephiroth had grown out of after finding friends and bonds and a mind of his own, for to be a student was to be molded, and in the end, to the Professor (though he himself did not realize it), that was little different from being shaped by scalpel and serum. Professor Hojo’s twisted paternal instincts had not been difficult to manipulate, only somewhat unpleasant to bear.

It helped that my hair had still been dyed Doctor Crescent's chestnut brown at the time, and that I had done my best to exploit that particular vulnerability which was Professor Hojo's all-too-human loss.

I took a deep breath.

“After the Kalm Bombings, I accompanied the professor to Nibelheim, where he was running the Shardstrength Project—experimenting with Materia-based human enhancement as a semi-reversible alternative to the permanent SOLDIER enhancements. He intended to graft the summon Zirconiade into Felicia Faraman, however, I objected on the grounds that it would produce atypical, unpredictable, and impossible to replicate results due to the nature of the summon in question.”

Also because she would otherwise be picked up by Fuhito the Child Groomer and angering the head of black ops by allowing that to happen to his daughter was unwise. I had gently nudged the professor to use another girl as Zirconiade’s human sacrifice.

“The Professor acknowledged my concerns to be valid, and altered the project to use the Odin Materia present in the manor instead. The operation was successful, and, given the uncooperative and difficult to contain nature of Felicia, she was transferred to Deepground, the same place my brother was held. I discovered Vincent Valentine in the manor basement as well during the time in the Manor, in self-imposed hibernation—he is still there, if you wish to confirm my words.”

I rubbed my temples. “Two years later, I had become Hojo’s most trusted, and that was when he introduced me to DEEPGROUND.”

“That word has come up quite a few times. What is it?”

“Deepground.” I sighed, letting my expression show my pained exhaustion at the name, “I will spare you its history. In its current iteration, Deepground is a secret army of enhanced individuals trained in a cartoonishly brutal fashion and implanted with biochips to control their behavior, hidden beneath Shinra Tower in an underground city built around Reactor Zero. Heidegger, Scarlet, Shinra—senior, and the late Professor Hojo were the only ones aware of the project until the professor brought me in, unbeknownst to the rest. Its personnel originate from children born in Deepground, injured SOLDIERS taken there, and certain individuals ‘ _conscripted_ ’ into its ranks, including my brother and your daughter.”

Emphasis shared suffering at this point.

“And your relationship to this army?”

“Professor Hojo unofficially involved me in Deepground as his second, delegating multiple Deepground projects to me. But as I said, my authority is unofficial, stemming from his, and unapproved by the president, leaving me with little ability to help the soldiers under it. To them, what I am is…complex. The best of the scientists, but still a figure complicit in their torment. I might have been able to get my brother out, but…he has dedicated himself to the protection of his comrades, therefore, the only way he will allow himself to be rescued would be if they were rescued with him.”

I forced out a laugh so that I did not rage, shaking my head at the memory, “My silly, stubborn little brother.”

I straightened, “And that is how I know Felicia Faraman and Vincent Valentine are alive. The latter is in your ability to recover, although his mental state is…suboptimal. For the former, the president will not allow Deepground to become public knowledge, let alone release one of his toy soldiers.” I smiled, wryness covering the bitter, “I thought once that perhaps I could trade for Verde’s freedom with a source of practically infinite energy, but it has become apparent that I cannot save my brother without dismantling his prison first—however, you might have a less impossible task.”

Veld looked at me, expressionless, for a count of ten, stood up, and left.


	4. Chapter 4

“Seriously, you are a nerd to the bone, aren’t you?” Cissnei remarked, “I mean, _Sauron_?”

I smiled in embarrassment, “I would prefer Gorthaur, actually—I am hardly foul-smelling, unless one counts that smell of antiseptic. I do have, however, some experience with canines.”

“Oh, Lord of Werewolves, right?”

“Correct.” I winced, “I can only hope that I do not get mauled by a wolfhound or confronted by an elven princess.”

“Given the lack of Luthiens and Huans around here, I’d say you’re safe.” The Turk comforted with a grin, blissfully unaware of the parallels between Midgar’s half-Ancient and the half-Maia princess from Tolkien’s pen. Presumably, but I strongly suspected that the philologist was not lying about having met beings who were not men—although the Firstborn might have favored the term Cetra instead of Elves.

…which would make Jenova Morgoth, come to think of it.

More salient was the fact that I now had proof that I had been under surveillance during my employment, since the odds of Cissnei coming upon the _Silmarillion_ on her own were far lower than that of it it being introduced to her by my online content. Rather depressingly, I couldn’t even write fanfiction without it having a strategic purpose.

* * *

After the revelations with Veld, I spent a few days in my cell, the passing of time marked only by meals and lights turning off and on, while (I presumed) he verified my information, and I mentioned a few anecdotes Felicia had shared which I could not have known otherwise to help the process along. The rotation who delivered my meals seemed to have softened towards me, sharing bits of news and the occasional piece of office gossip—my fate seemed to have become a subject of speculation outside the Turks. I was even congratulated for managing to do what everyone else dreamed of, one of the redheads—Rod—clapping me on the back and telling me _good job outliving Hojo_ before handing me a chocolate bar.

Today, after mealtime, the door opened again, and both Veld and I took our customary places on either side of the table.

“We will be discussing your attempts to free your brother in detail today, Doctor Yakushi.” He said, opening his notebook. “Please begin at when you realized something had happened to your brother.”

“My brother’s last letter to me said that he was joining the Shinra Educational Uplift Program. My parents informed me that they had been told that the helicopter he was on crashed, and that he had perished in the explosion.” I smiled tightly, “Somehow, I doubted that. Why else would my parents have been _silenced_?”

He made a note, “I will not apologize for my operatives doing their jobs. The two agents we sent to recruit Verde Storm were killed as well. Please continue, doctor.”

Admit but redirect. Sensible. The choice of _were killed_ , passive, implied that the pair had been victims as well. It was a calculated choice.

I swallowed, and ran a hand through my hair—a tell, something I should have trained out of myself, “I was already in university by then, and any sudden change in behavior could have aroused suspicion, so I only put on a vague show of mourning for my brother, answered my parents’ letters with sympathy but also dismissals of their concerns of foul play—I assumed that my letters were being monitored, given that I didn’t know how else my brother would have come to Shinra’s attention. I then attached myself to Fuhito to provide a plausible alternative for any changes I would affect. My brother and I don’t look related, but the professor might have read about my brother’s family, so I needed to have the chance to convince him of my trustworthiness, even if I did not have the skill to construct an untraceable new identity, so, brown hair and another style of glasses.”

Glasses aside, I had actually modeled my new appearance vaguely after Doctor Crescent’s, for greater effect. My persona had also relied upon my memories of what she had told me about the Professor to craft—she was to thank for how I could manipulate the Professor so effectively from the start.

“A few months afterwards, I let Fuhito get me drunk, then used drunken rebellion against my small-town origins as an excuse to change my name, just in case I was watched and someone was suspicious of why I would do so—Fuhito’s always been obsessed with Zirconiade, he was the one who told me about the Summon—he was the one who attacked us in June, was he not? He worships Professor Hojo, even asked me to get him a lock of the professor’s hair when I first got the job. It is extraordinarily strange to see him leading a terrorist group—”

Fuhito was just…

“We will discuss Fuhito later, Doctor Yakushi.” Veld said, “Please, back to your actions to approach professor Hojo.”

Thank heavens.

I nodded briskly, “Apologies. After I changed my appearance, I worked on the personality. I began with a base of unobtrusive, but quietly competent, with a touch of ambition, which I then modified on the fly while introducing myself to the professor—he was impressed by my work ethic and lack of excess emotion, and my resume was already noteworthy, leading to him offering me an internship. I also affected a certain degree of malleable vulnerability, given that getting him to approach me would arouse less suspicion. After my employment, I worked on the details, based upon my observations of the professor’s reactions to my colleagues. I tamped down my sense of humor, smoothed away any trace of clumsiness, and, of course,” I gave Veld a humorless smile, “I smothered whatever sense of rightness or morality I had.”

Growing up in Chigiri did not allow for weak stomachs. Being the Mizukage’s daughter had merely meant exposure to more regimented violence. I didn’t flinch if I did not will it, and yet it had only been years upon years of careful indifference that had allowed me to make myself feel nothing but detached fascination when I saw what the Science Department was doing.

I was speaking on the automatic now, words tumbling out of my mouth with little thought to their content—but that was fine, because I was baring my soul to beg for trust, “Youth was an asset, but it only excused inexperience, not ignorance, and I was expected to learn swiftly. The average turnover rate for my department is twenty percent, did you know that? There are three routes a scientist suspected of second thoughts can go. Dead and in a tank, relegated to some unimportant position where they can see no evil and fight no evil, or down, permanently, into Deepground, if they knew too much—even if I wanted to go to Deepground, I couldn’t get trapped there, not if I wanted to get my brother out.”

A deep breath. Reorient. I relocated my glasses to the top of my nose, “Professor Hojo is—was—human. I needed access to even more classified information, so I needed him to _want_ me at his side, and trust me unconditionally until emotion overwhelmed—no, subverted—good sense.”

I couldn’t keep my fingers from curling, my discipline weakened by relief and exhaustion and a new sort of tension until all my control did was keep my nails from being driven into my palms, “So, I learned him. I learned what questions pleased him, and which annoyed him. I studied every even peripherally relevant subject to be able to carry on what he would consider intelligent conversation and volunteer information when he needed it, before he asked. I trained my typing speed and handwriting, practiced the technical aspects of our profession, changed my diction to suit him; I filled in his paperwork, took care of whatever he considered irritating minutiae with the same precision he demanded of himself, aligned myself with him in all matters, but never hid my intelligence—there is a balance between appearing spineless and being rebellious, but I managed to provide stimulating alternate viewpoints without ever casting aspersions on his expertise.”

—that had been like walking a knife’s edge, neither toadying nor defiant, ever respectful, ever courteous, ever obedient despite questioning him at times when I noted an error or a possible alternative—

"I observed his moods, learned to identify which could be defused—and how—and which could not be, which was naturally followed by designing contingencies for then. I even recreated my sense of humor based on his own. I know his coffee order by heart, can confirm its correct temperature with a touch, can make an accurate guess as to what he will want to eat for each meal—varieties of ramen, usually, but never the instant kind; steak on slower days; onion and beef stir-fry on rice on occasion; blanched vegetables on the side, never mixed into the dish; fruit only in seedless chunks that can be eaten with a fork, never Banora Whites; pastries that do not flake—”

I pushed my glasses up, “A thousand tiny things to endear myself to him, aside from the genius I first showed at the Shardstrength Project, and one big one.”

“What is that?”

“Physical force. What cemented my worth in the professor’s mind was the fact that I could unerringly carry out technically complex orders that required a skillset not usually found in scientists. One cannot tell a SOLDIER to retrieve the amygdala of a Nibel Dragon, let alone trust him to get it back properly preserved and undamaged—I can manage to acquire good quality samples even in adverse conditions, while a knack for delivering tranquilizers, be it by injection or ingestion or inhalation, makes containment breaches end with living specimens, and it did not hurt to be fast enough to put down Mako-crazy SOLDIERs before they damaged lab equipment either.”

Professor Hojo had also brought me along as his platonic date for any event he had to attend and made me act as a social buffer. As a result, I hated those things even more than he did. I had no desire to talk about that, however.

Veld nodded slowly, “The number of containment missions we ran did drop significantly after your employment. And your friends? You did realize the foolishness of isolating yourself while centering your life on a sociopath?”

I shrugged, “I kept in contact with my old university friends—Fuhito never realized that I was sabotaging his efforts to separate me on purpose, and Professor Hojo never cared—and we still put our heads together for interdisciplinary projects or whatever unclassified problem any of us need help on, and our groupchats are still active, even if I rarely speak up.”

“Do you refer to the ‘Alchemical Society’?” Veld confirmed.

“Yes. Apart from that, I sent Tifa a PHS, so we could talk a bit that way.”

He didn’t ask me who Tifa was, or the contents of our conversations, which was another indication that my communications were not private. As to be expected, given that I was aware of far too many company secrets and what did you have secret police for if not to make sure your scientists weren’t leaking them? I sent the phone to Tifa, since her house had the electricity to charge the thing, and because no one would take her possessions like they would Cloud’s.

Lucky, given that Cloud had, despite my insistence when I was at Nibelheim for Shardstrength and my more carefully worded texts over monitored lines throughout the years, chosen to come to Midgar to investigate the series of misfortunes that had befallen my family and left everyone but me dead (with me having discarded my old name), and had to that purpose applied for SOLDIER, then been relegated the infantry on account of his height and age, where his skill with Materia and a midwife’s training marked him for either a reevaluation once he had grown some or immediate enrollment into the combat medic program (Tifa, he had informed me, intended to follow him once she had completed her training with Master Zangan). As a result, he didn’t need to be brought even more into Shinra’s attention, although with his connection to me and the fact that I did have to treat him as a little brother of sorts to keep him from questioning why I had changed and making an enemy of Professor Hojo meant that he had no hope of anonymity.

Cloud!

I had made sure that he knew I had a plan, but he would not react well to being taken by the Turks, and he was without a doubt willing to make an enemy of Shinra for his friends' sake, and he counted me among them, despite everything. I could only trust that Chadley would have assured him of my continued survival.

I turned my attention back to Veld Verdot.


	5. Chapter 5

“Two years later, I was introduced to Deepground. I dismissed Verde as another Tsviet whenever I saw him, at least at first, but endeavored to spend more time down below.”

What came now was far less easily told than what I had confessed to before, since for all my condemnable behavior, those iniquities were between myself and the Professor, and I felt no hesitation in speaking of that dead man. This, however, concerned a living woman—one who I more than admired, and whose griefs and rages were entrusted to me.

She would not mind her legend being made known.

* * *

“Argento. May I speak to you alone?” I had asked the young woman. It was rather ironic that she wore a silver crown, a _ginkanmuri,_ and possessed the Wutai look that Kirigakure's children shared.

She had considered me coolly for a few heartbeats, then grunted assent and led me to her quarters.

Once the door had been closed and I had ascertained that there weren’t any surveillance devices, I had sat on the ground opposite Argento, and reintroduced myself, “I am the daughter of Gale and Sophia Storm, elder sister of Verde. Please allow me to thank you for taking care of my brother.”

Argento had stilled, killing intent pressing at me, “Is this a test, doctor?” She had asked, her voice dangerously calm.

“In a sense.” I had told her, holding her gaze, “But not given in my capacity as a scientist—rather, I speak to you as Verde’s sister. I came here to rescue him, but I have seen that it is not within my ability, save through releasing him from life as well—however, I want my brother to live and be happy, therefore, I have no other recourse but to beg aid of another.”

“Why me?” She had asked.

I had frowned, biting back bitterness, “Who else?”

No one had the strength to contest Deepground, and defanged, declawed, crippled as I was, I could not snare the minds of the powers and puppet them to my will.

“You understand,” She had said, “That I hold all the negotiating power?”

It was a lie. I may not be able to make life much easier for any denizen of Deepground, but it was always near effortless to make it worse. By stating what she had, however, Argento had encouraged me to believe so—and she hadn’t been wholly wrong, since there were still lines that I would not cross lightly.

I hadn’t flinched as I had answered, “Yes.” and then bowed into a dogeza, pressing the palms of my hands and my forehead to the floor. We had held our positions for an uncomfortable five breaths—to make our points, before I settled back onto my heels.

It had been time enough also for Argento to make a decision, for she had spoken, “I am the daughter of Gānjiāng and Mòyé born again, and their namesakes’ doom was theirs. Shinra bade my parents forge the sword of their demon general under threat of death. My mother leapt into the forge to make the steel for the Masamune, and when Shinra came to take the sword, they took my father and me as well, jailing us in this underworld, and my father took his own life to make mine untouchable. Thus, I remain, Shinra’s pet quartermaster, unable to avenge my parents, who gave their lives so that I may live.”

* * *

In the time of Spring and Autumn and Warring Nations, a husband and wife were famed far and wide as weaponsmiths. They were bade to forge swords for the king, and by some legends, Mòyé cast herself into the forge, and by others, she cast her hair and nails therein. When the swords were made, they were a pair, and Gānjiāng, foreseeing the king’s wrath, took but the female sword with him to present to the king, hiding the male and charging his wife to tell their child of it should he be born a boy, so that he may avenge his father. The king slew Gānjiāng as predicted, and the smith’s son, named for the width twixt his brows, was directed by his mother to the sword his father hid.

Alas, the king dreamt of such a man come to slay him, and put a bounty upon his face. Widebrow fled into the mountains, and wept, and attracted a passing assassin. “Why do you mourn so, youth?” The assassin asked. “I am the son of Gānjiāng and Mòyé, and the king killed my father—I would avenge him!” Answered Widebrow. “It has been heard that the king would buy thy head for a thousand gold, give it and thy sword onto me, and I shall avenge thine (father) for thee!” Spake the assassin. “Gladly!” Cried Widebrow, and cut his own head from his shoulders. Offering his head and his sword, he stood stiff and still. The assassin spake, “I shall not disappoint thee.” Only then did the body fall.

The assassin took the head to see the king, and the king rejoiced. The assassin spake, “This is the head of a hero, and should be boiled in hot water so that its spirit is broken.” The king assented. For three days and three nights was the head boiled, and yet was not unmade; leaping out of the water, it glared, eyes full of rage. The assassin spake, “This head does not soften—would that you, the king, looked upon it yourself, then would it surely be destroyed.” The king came upon it. The assassin swiftly took the king’s head with the sword he had been given, then took his own head also. All three heads fell into the boiling water and were swift boiled to bone and could not be identified. Therefore, the soup and meat were divided and buried, and the barrow was named the tomb of the three kings.

* * *

“Would you have me play the role of the assassin to yours of Widebrow?” I had asked. I shared her thirst for vengeance, but I doubted, however, that Argento’s head would be enough for me to trick my way into killing her hated foe.

“No.” She had replied, still hard, but less cold, now that we had found common ground. “Shinra takes and takes from Wutai, not content with resources and people, it wants its culture too. Do you know that they named the first of the Tsviets the White Emperor? Shinra is greedy, and I would have it choke on its greed—if it wants an emperor, then an emperor it will have.” She had looked down for a moment. “However, in my youth, I disdained my past, looking instead towards the future. It is not a decision I regret, for there is much of Wutai that malingers past its time, but in discarding the chaff, I have lost much of the wheat as well. I do not remember enough of who I was to raise a true dragon Son of Heaven, and so I must relearn the foundation of my identity, and you must teach me.”

“How are you certain that I am capable of it?”

Argento had snorted, “You have sat seiza for the whole of this conversation—do you think that such is within the ability of all men? I speak of Kanshou and Bakuya by names few even in Wutai know, and you answer me word for word in a tongue I _had_ yet to hear properly from a foreign mouth. I know not yet enough of who you are, but our meeting was no chance thing.”

There was no reverence that was not due to Argento and her quiet strength, so utter and absolute, like and yet far greater than my own. When she could not free one’s body, she chose to free the mind instead, when I, weak, quailing thing that I was could only offer the swift mercy called death, the freedom of the spirit.

How then, could I dare to fail in what she had asked of me? From that day on, I played the assassin in our drama of avenging children and the defiance of regimes while she became a guardian to my brother in the ways I could not, and sharing that unparalleled intimacy between the instrument of a will and the origin of it, in time we grew to be _zhīyīn_ , knowers of each other's songs, mirrors of each other's souls, connected by the deepest of all bonds—understanding.

* * *

Sadly, to say as much would undoubtedly invite raised eyebrows and certain...accusations (I had clearly recited too much _Dream of a Red Chamber_ to Nero if _that_ was what the teenager's mind jumped to), so I gave Veld a brief summary of my relationship with the blacksmith instead.

“Then I prevailed upon Argento to tutor me in combat and weaponry, given that self-defense only does so much and the professor was entrusting me with increasingly dangerous tasks, which gave us the opportunity to plan unobserved—the professor did not particularly care about what I did in my spare time, and approved of my attempts at self-improvement.”

“Tsviet?” Veld asked.

“Oh.” I blinked, “I forgot to explain, didn’t I? The hierarchy of Deepground is simple. The four Restrictors—we distinguish them with cardinal directions, with East as the leader—at the top, answering only to the president, although they do acknowledge the professor’s authority—they hold everyone else’s leashes. Then the Colored Tsviets—they are the ones who fought their way up and have special skills—promotions are decided through battles to the death between eligible candidates. There are, at the present, seven and one, Rosso, Weiss, Nero, Verde, Felicia, Shelke, Azul—the red, immaculate, sable, emerald, gold, transparent, and cerulean, respectively; in addition there is also Argento, who is treated as a Colored Tsviet, but was recruited directly into the rank from Wutai—you can tell from the fact that she isn’t titled using the same ‘the _color_ _’_ format. There are Tsviets below them, with less unique abilities, and also the rank and file, who follow the same system as the infantry.”

Veld tapped his pen on the table. “Interesting. Azul has disappeared from record, although he appears to have spent a stint in SOLDIER before doing so. Shelke Rui was also initially tapped for SOLDIER, before her transport was attacked and she was taken. Verde Storm’s escort was similarly assaulted.” He made a note, “How many kills would you say each Tsviet has?”

I laughed hollowly, “Rough estimate? Around thirty, just from moving up the ranks. Azul and Rosso have significantly more, being inclined to violence. Shelke and Argento have less, due to the nature of their roles as quartermaster and information operative. Uncolored Tsviets average at twenty-eight. They’ve made Nero erase villages, which raises his kill count up to the thousands, while Verde’s abilities with Materia mean that he’s killed squadrons in melee during Trials—one hundred and twenty-six, if the number hasn’t changed since I saw it last. Weiss has combat capabilities similar to Sephiroth’s, but being relatively mundane, he’s killed one gross of people, approximately. Felicia’s use of her Odin Transformation has resulted in precisely sixty-seven instant deaths, with eighteen more from when she was untransformed and going through combat training—the Restrictors enjoy having her carry out executions, given her refusal to sink to their level.”

“Shiva’s grace.” Veld hissed.

“There is no good reason for Deepground.” I agreed serenely, blood dripping from crescents in my hands, “And I did not exaggerate when I said it is Hell.”

Veld nodded slowly. “I believe we are done for today, Doctor Yakushi. You will be escorted to the showers to clean up, and a change of clothes will be provided.”

I inclined my head, “Thank you, Mister Veld.”

After he left, I slid onto the ground, hugging my knees. My carefully maintained detachment was gone, that reserved cold curiosity that had me walking the tightrope between a mad scientist’s indifference to suffering and the horror even a hardened shinobi would feel gone, worn away by too much, too frank confession.

Just as well, if there was ever a time when showing pain would not be blood in the water, it was now, when I was already at my captors' mercy, and the sight of weakness might move them to pity.

I took a deep, shuddering breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually did try to sit seiza for a bit to test the realism of that particular comment.  
>  _Dream of the Red Chamber_ : one of the four great classics of Chinese literature, a romance novel detailing the rise and decline of a wealthy family. Nero likes it for some reason, so Reyne's been memorizing chapters for him, along with multiple other books for his fellow Tsviets.  
> For more on zhiyin, hunxi-guilai on tumblr has a very informative post, here: https://hunxi-guilai.tumblr.com/post/612161034673946624/all-right-guys-lets-have-a-conversation-about  
> although the relationship between Widebrow and the assassin is slightly different in the sense that the former isn't nobility.


	6. Chapter 6

“With what it’s done to you and your brother, I’m pretty surprised you’re still sticking with Shinra, no matter what happens to your brother.” Cissnei noted, handing me my glasses, “I mean, Fuhito’d love to have you.”

The probe was quite obvious for a highly trained spy, but I could forgive her that since there weren’t exactly many ways to subtly ask why I had not committed treason.

“Change has to come from the inside.” I said, “Shinra’s too big to die gently, let alone easily, and Deepground is its biggest skeleton, so we’d be hunted all our lives otherwise. Besides, not only is Fuhito is a child-groomer, I don’t know where to find him. Tracking down terrorists isn’t exactly my skillset, even if tracking down rare creatures is.”

Underwear. A comfortable, long-sleeved turtleneck. Pants. Jacket. All taken from my apartment, because casual invasion of privacy was part and parcel of secret police everywhere.

“You’d be surprised at how much those two overlap. But seriously, no fantasy of running away to work at a quiet chocobo farm?”

I snorted, “I ran away from Nibelheim" (on Shinra’s dime) "when I was eleven, do I look like someone who wants a life of chocobo husbandry? And besides, from what the Animal Biology majors tell me, raising chocobos isn’t exactly quiet—more like loud, dirty, and full of danger—in contrast, the labs are only full of danger, thank you very much. Do you have a dream of that sort?”

Cissnei shrugged, “I figured that you might have wanted a small-town fantasy, but I’m a beach girl myself. Go on vacation, earn some pocket money taking pictures for tourists, enjoy the view and the cocktails, fantasize about never doing paperwork, ever—pretty much vanilla stuff.”

“What do beach cocktails taste like?” I asked, genuinely curious as we stepped out of the washrooms.

“What?” Cissnei stared at me, unabashed, “You’ve never had a Costa del Sol?”

“I’ve only been to the beach once—Professor Hojo took me, and it put me off the sun sea sand combo for life.” I grimaced comically, “I’d rather not traumatize myself more with additional exposure to him in swim shorts—worse, he’s charismatic enough to attract a flock of buxom, bikini-clad young ladies within minutes of sitting down under an umbrella, and then they start talking about wanting him to ‘experiment’ on them. Given that I only get time off when the Professor is on vacation, I don’t need a repeat performance, thank you very much.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” The Turk gasped in fascinated horror, “ _Hojo_? _Girls_?”

“I have pictures.” I said grimly. “I use them to warn the new arrivals so that they know what they’re getting into if they accept the invitation to the department beach trips—it helps reduce our vacation spending.”

“Damn, that’s going to keep me up at night.” Cissnei paused before my cell door, “—on second thought, you deserve a reward for good behavior and if I have to deal with the images you’ve put in my head, then so does everyone else, so come on, let’s go to the lounge, you’ll get to have some actual conversation for once and I’ll get to see everyone else’s reactions to your sordid tales.”

* * *

Once Cissnei left to get drinks, senior agent Reno’s first words to me were “ _the fuck?_ ”

Followed by, “I will _pay_ you to let your hair down in public, double if Sephiroth’s there.”

I drew a hand through my damp hair, the sensation comforting, “Whatever chaos you envision has long since occurred, and five years is still not long enough for the memories to fade.”

“Nah, you can’t fool me, doc.” Reno wagged a finger at me with a grin, “I was here five years ago, and I sure as hell never heard even a whisper of the General’s secret sister—seriously, with t’way ya look, I ain’t believing that no one who wanted Sephiroth tried fuck you instead.”

The timing had to be just right. Humming thoughtfully while two of his chair’s legs left the floor, I said, “That would explain Genesis.”

The redhead lost his balance with an almighty crash, barely missing the low table in his fall.

“Please tell me you’re joking.”

I blinked. “Of course.”

“Then sound like it for Ramuh’s sake, Rainy! You damn near gave me a heart attack!”

“Apologies.”

He waved them off as he got up from the ground, and I explained, “We had our own feud, there was no need for him to project his rivalry with Sephiroth onto me. On the other hand, you are not incorrect that there was indeed no shortage of people who wanted me for my looks—for the first few months, that was.”

“What happened?” Reno sat down again, this time being careful to keep both feet on the ground.

Fortunately for sixteen-year-old me, I had had the foresight to choose a dark brown for my hair and lean relentlessly into Professor Hojo’s wife-related trauma. I set down the hand that had automatically risen to cover my fond smile, “They were forced to contend with the Professor.”

“Oh, I’ve got to hear this.” Cissnei had come back, plunking down beside me on the sofa with three bottles in hand. She gave me the lemonade, handed the unhealthily caffeinated (I meant that literally, since I was the one who signed off on the formula) sports drink to Reno, and kept the ice tea for herself, removing the cap with an easy twist. “Wasn’t there a rumor of Hojo setting quests for your hand?”

I laughed, “That was merely a rumor—the running joke was that anyone interested in me would have to be preeminent in their field, have a six-figure salary, and bring him the head of Hollander before he even considered allowing a romantic relationship.”

“Jeez, talk about overprotective, yo.”

“It would have got to have led to speculation.” Cissnei agreed, “What was the most popular one? That you were his secret daughter? Favorite experiment? Child of a long-lost lover that he’d promised to protect? The offspring of his nemesis who he was raising out of spite? Come on, spill.”

Disturbingly, the majority of her guesses were quite accurate—as descriptions of Sephiroth.

“It depended on the time.” Counting on my fingers, I continued, “The experiment theory was the most prevalent at first, as I let my hair grow out silver due to Professor Hojo’s dislike of the dye—my colleagues thought he was altering its original color for aesthetic reasons, I believe—it popped up again recently after Chadley, what with all the jokes about how the Professor could only stand silverettes. The familial relations theories began to gain ground once I started compiling and archiving the works of his late wife, Doctor Crescent, and of course, there were always those who read too much into my enmity towards Hollander.”

“Man, and I thought you eggheads were supposed to be rational an’ shit.” Reno took a swig of his drink, “Turns out you were just good at hiding gossip, yo.”

“What gossip?”

Tseng.

“Science Department secrets and stuff.” Cissnei grinned, “Come on, don’t make that face, Tseng, it’s enhanced interrogation!”

I obligingly frowned and examined my lemonade, not that I would have learned anything about its contents without access to the lab.

“I won’t write you up for this incident.” Tseng said, “But I will need to ask Doctor Yakushi to accompany me.”

I cycled through worst case scenarios: Sephiroth Degrading, Aerith being found, Cloud holding the Board of Directors hostage, Fuhito releasing some horrific plague or other.

“Of course.” I set down my lemonade and got up.

“Please, follow me.”

* * *

“How familiar are you with the Virtual Reality Combat Simulator, doctor?” Tseng asked me in the elevator.

“Quite. The Professor may have preferred to program his models himself, but much of the fine-tuning was delegated to me.” More accurately, to Chadley, who, as a being unbound to crude matter, was far better at manipulating code than someone as technologically incompetent as I.

“Then I presume you have access to the late professor’s overrides and backdoors?”

“A great number of them. But,” I frowned, “All runnable simulations can be terminated by PHS, and even if they can’t be, waiting them out is also a feasible option. They’re _simulations—_ the point is to not cause harm.”

“Not this one.” Tseng answered calmly, as the floors ticked away, “SOLDIER First Class Zack Fair is currently trapped with Infantryman Cloud Strife in a simulation that has resisted all our attempts to terminate it and shows no signs of running down. Their PHSes have also been destroyed in a Lightning attack, which means that they have lost contact with us, and this particular simulation has currently left them in a state of extreme distress. We were hoping to make use of your knowledge before resorting to more…direct measures.”

Meaning shaped munitions, I presumed. But to my knowledge, the Professor preferred inserting lines of malignant code into standard simulations, usually to create random pop-up Sephiroths, not—oh. I had missed a worst-case scenario: Chadley was a fully developed AI, and perfectly capable of sabotaging anything connected to the net and indirectly sabotaging quite a few things that weren’t even before he got into a flesh body.

Which meant that odds were, this was a Cloud and Chadley conspiracy, and since Cloud genuinely liked Zack, they were probably not in genuine danger.

But Tseng would not know this, and while he was good enough to watch me unnoticed, common sense told me that he had to be watching. I did not let go of my tension, but I could justifiably not show any more emotion, thanks to the Professor.

The doors opened. I bit my lip. “I’ll do my best.”

* * *

I was having _words_ with Chadley; this was one of my experimental models: fractured dimensions giving every attack the potential of becoming friendly fire, twisted vectors allowing enemies to attack from unexpected angles, the threat of both preventing the pair (Zack) from utilizing their full strength and simply breaking out.

Even knowing that the danger was false, I still felt that battle-calm steal over me. Enter passwords, tap out characters, keep an eye on the subtle flicker of the four lights spelling out words.

_Tifa found Crescent in cave. Hid messages from spyware. Plan?_

Carefully, I hid four letters into the mess of code I was typing: _hold._

I pressed the enter key.

“Simulation ended.”

I let out a breath.

Cloud and Zack Fair struggled to the exit, leaning on each other and walking through shattered space dissolving into pixels. My brother’s—my friend was bruised and battered and sweaty, but nothing more than that—Zack had taken the brunt of the damage—still not much, the simulated Sanbi could not offer more than mild burns from fire and lightning and the occasional buffeting by the wind and its tails.

Still, I was concerned, and free from the Professor’s scrutiny, I showed it freely. “Cloud!”

Thankfully, Tseng allowed me this, and Cloud spun towards me in excellently feigned surprise—I had taught him well, “Re—Doctor Yakushi!”

I examined his injuries, fractal burn on the left arm from lightning, embedded shards of shattered Materia—worthless artificial garbage, cuts and scrapes, what was probably a bruised shoulder under his clothes— “Are you alright?”

“Yes, but what about you? You disappeared after Hojo’s accident—the last person to see you was the General and he’s being asking about you too!”

“I’m fine, Cloud.” I said gently, “Thank you for caring.”

And for giving me that snippet of information. If Professor Hojo’s death was being labelled a tragic accident, then my fate was still up in the air, if only because now, with Hollander fled and Doctor Rayleigh possessing inconvenient principles, I was an irreplaceable resource. Arousing the Silver General’s curiosity was slightly more of a surprise, but also an opportunity.

Allowing me even this much external contact was already impermissible if the Turks were intending to isolate me. Therefore, Tseng stepped in, “That is enough, Private Strife, Doctor Yakushi is required elsewhere.”

For a terrifying moment, I thought Cloud was going to go for his weapon, but then he relaxed, nodding his understanding, “Of course, Tseng.”

Back in the elevator, I thanked him for letting me talk to Cloud.

He inclined his head, “You have my gratitude as well, doctor; you did not muddle the waters with any mention of your current circumstances. May I ask why?”

Because it was easier to destroy trust than build it. Because I wanted to see how this would play out. because I didn’t think Cloud could do much to help me. I pursed my lips. “I dislike confrontation.”

The elevator doors opened. Tseng gestured. “That is wise. After you, Doctor.”

**Author's Note:**

> Constructive criticism is welcomed. If you find that the quality of my writing has lowered, or if if it's simply bad at some points, please tell me! I seek to improve!


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